


Different

by mhunter10



Series: fic!february (28 day challenge) [10]
Category: Shameless (US)
Genre: Angst, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-02-11
Updated: 2014-02-11
Packaged: 2018-01-12 00:31:49
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 764
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1179775
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mhunter10/pseuds/mhunter10
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Mickey leaves The White Swallow in a hurry.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Different

Mickey stopped dead, as a car barely screeched to a halt with its horn blaring. The driver giving him the finger out the window and calling him something he couldn't hear. He couldn't really hear anything with so much blood rushing around in his ears. He continued walking at a fast pace across the street, feeling like his chest was constricting with every step he took. He made it to the other side and gasped for air, leaning against a streetlamp and doubling over. He felt sick to his stomach, but nothing came up but a couple of dry heaves that churned his stomach even more. He screwed his eyes shut tight and tried to block out the bustle of nightlife going on around him; too close to him. He had to get away from it all. He had to get as far away from that club as possible and never come back, but that thought only made him sicker. He made the mistake of opening his eyes and looking in the direction he came from, the flashing lights and dance music and sounds of drugged laughter were disorienting. Mickey put a hand to his head, as it started to pound. He couldn't look at the place anymore without seeing the boy he thought he knew.

He pushed himself away from the post and down the sidewalk, back towards the Southside where things had stayed relatively the same. He felt pain shoot up his body, as his feet thumped on the ground. He felt cold even with his heavy jacket on, and the sweat he felt wasn't helping. His hands were wet clammy fists in his pockets, and his heart beat a million times a minute.

What had he done?

That was the only thought running through his head on repeat. The scene played over and over in his head and he couldn't get away from it. The fast talking, the smiling, the laughing, everything had been so off it was like it was happening in a dream. But it wasn't a dream. Mickey wasn't going to wake up in his bed to the sound of too many people in his house blaming him for things. Instead he was going back to a house full of rightful accusers.

Because it was his fault.

What he saw in that club was nothing but the product of him fucking up once again, but this time it seemed irreparable; he had gone too far. It was the only explanation for the glassy eyed, two-second looks, the slightly disturbing upturn in his mouth mocking a smile Mickey had been craving for months, the meaningless words that spilled out all over the place like the drink he was carelessly mixing.

Ian was weird now. He wasn't the same angry and sad boy who'd left his home behind to prematurely chase after his dream when there was nothing left to make him stay.

Nothing except for Mickey, but all he'd done was choke out a word that wasn't strong enough to say everything he really wanted to say; everything he ever wanted to say since he'd first realized earlier than he would ever admit.

And now Ian was changed. Maybe it had been a combination of things piling on top until they broke him, but Mickey was the one who'd put the crack in him, weakening him undetected until it was too late.

How could he let this happen?

Mickey stumbled over his feet and looked around to find himself in a dark alley. This hadn't been the way he wanted to go, walking on autopilot, fleeing the scene.

He kicked the rusted dumpster and threw himself against the side of the building, sliding down on his weak legs. His face was wet, but it wasn't sweat. He wiped at tears that were determined not to stop until all he could see was the blurry world around him.

He yelled.

At himself, at the redheaded boy in the club and the kid from from the corner store with the goofy grin and the soldier who would never be.

He shook with the full weight of guilt, and scared the rats away with his cries. He went until his voice was raw and he was left trembling from the images and thoughts that plagued him. He sat in that alley and started to think about all the times and ways he could have shown him what he was feeling, what he was thinking.

He loved Ian.

Was that so hard?

Maybe that fact hadn't changed, but Ian had.

He was different.


End file.
